


This Is Not A Love Story

by Rena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rena/pseuds/Rena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is not staring, Sam is not whining, Castiel is not saving the day and the monster of the week is not a pony. And this summary isn't sarcastic at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Not A Love Story

Dean is not staring.

At all.

Ever.

Especially not at his creepy weirdo angel who is prone to staring back and who, to be precise, has started the staring in the first place. Dean wonders whether that was an angels' thing or whether it is just Castiel. Anna didn't stare that way, but then, she had been human. Uriel and Zachariah, those pricks, had done their fair share of staring, but they at least seemed to _blink_ once in a while.

So, yeah, Dean decides, this was at least seventy-five percent just Cas being a creepy creeper, and maybe twenty-five percent general angel creepiness. They've always known Cas is different from the other angels: way cooler, in a way (that is to say he scores lower numbers in the dick category, which does not automatically make him _that_ cool, as Dean wants to assert), but also apparently way more inept when it comes to understanding basic concepts of human society and behaviour.

So, bottom line, Cas is staring a lot.

And Dean isn't.

Except when he is. But that's just because Cas deserves being subjected to creepy weirdo stares in return for all the staring he does himself, not because Dean enjoys the view or something.

And the word "staring" has been used way too many times in this train of thought. So sue him, he hasn't swallowed a dictionary like Sammy has, so he isn't going to spit out a number of high-level, eloquent synonyms, okay?

Anyway.

What Dean actually wanted to say was, Sam is wrong. He is not expressing his subconscious sexual desires via desperate, longing glances at the subject in question (Castiel). He's also most definitely not following the languid, almost lazy movement of the angel's tongue as he wets his lips. And this observation does not result in him mentally undressing said angel.

He really doesn't know where Sam got that idea from.

"Dude, are you...have you even listened to anything I said?" Sam asks, clearly exasperated.

Dean starts with a jolt. "What? Oh, yeah, of course I have." He lied. "Um...Minnesota, bunch of dead people, haunted house, blah blah blah..."

Sam pulls a bitchface that is somewhere between #37 and #54 ( _You are the most irritating person on earth_ and _If you keep doing this I will smack you in the face)_ and closes his laptop. "No," he accentuates, "I said that about half an hour ago, before you decided to space out. And the people aren't dead, they're just missing."

Dean almost has the decency to look sheepish. Almost.

On the other side of the table, Cas leans forward. "Sam was...pointing out the crucial fact that all the victims were children, and that they all seem to have disappeared in the immediate surroundings of Miners Lake, Ely," he supplies helpfully.

"So what, we're dealing with a giant fish or something?" Dean asks, and Sam is right, he really needs to pay more attention. It's not entirely his fault, though, as he will insist; it's just that when Sam and Castiel are together, they have their little nerd geek-outs and take hours to reveal the relevant information, and you can't blame a guy to zone out temporarily.

"The information given in the papers is too vague to make an educated guess," the angel replies calmly. "It would be unwise to make such assumptions."

Sam shrugs. "I'd say we go check it out."

"Dude, we are four states away. Might just be a...a psychopath or something."

"We have driven further for less," Sam points out. "It might be a hunt."

"Yeah, but we usually didn't have the friggin apocalypse hanging above our heads. Which reminds me." He turns to Cas. "How's the search for daddy going?"

Castiel just sort of looks at him, more sourly than he usually does, and Sam just says " _Dean_ ," in the tone that is reserved for the occasions when he wants to tell his older brother that he's being an insensitive dick, and when did Sam start trying to protect the angel's feelings anyway?

"You know as well as I do that I have not yet made much progress, although I have covered a large area," Castiel says tersely. "If you have come up with a better plan in the meantime, please enlighten us. If not, I suggest that, since Bobby is the one searching for other solutions, you cease your snide remarks and do what you do best."

Dean lifts an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"Hunting. Saving people."

"Yeah, maybe I should start by removing that stick up your ass," Dean mutters under his breath and takes another sip of his beer. Castiel wasn't supposed to hear that, but from the way he glowers at Dean, he did, and the whole angry vibe? It's kind of hot.

And Dean totally didn't just think that.

The next moment, Castiel is gone – and damn, they _really_ need to tell him not to do that again, especially not in public, like in a freaking diner where everyone could see him vanish into thin air – and Sam sighs and looks at him expectantly.

It's not like they have any better option (Cas was right about that), so off they go.

Dean turns up the volume of the music while they're driving, just to make sure Sam doesn't get a chance to make any other comments, but the smug little smirk his little brother is giving him every once in a while (the _I know something you don't_ one) is just as bad.

 

* * *

 

After over twenty hours of driving, Dean wants to do nothing more than flop on the bed in their room of run-of-the-mill motel number 1785, but no, Sam, who has spent the last eight hours dozing in the passenger seat is obnoxiously chirpy and deeply concerned about the vanished kids and wants to start investigating as soon as possible, so they dress in their suits, grab a pair of FBI-batches and head out to interrogate the families. That turns out to be as useful as a broomstick would be for smiting Lucifer, which, means not at all. In the end, the only things that they learn are what they already knew: four children, all under ten, went missing at the lakeside during the last two months when their parents weren't watching, bodies have not been found, no obvious connections between the families, and dealing with four crying mothers in a row gives Dean a headache.

"So what do we have?" he asks Sam as they leave the last house, "aside from a whole big pile of nothing and some more on top of that?"

Sam shrugs. "Let's go and have a look at the spot where they vanished," he suggests.

"Dude, they didn't even go missing on the same spot," Dean complains, but gets into the car anyway. "The only thing that connects the cases is the lake, and unless Nessie decided to take up residence in a friggin pond in Minnesota, I doubt that we have any leads."

It's been raining a lot lately, so all the leads and traces that might have given them some clues have been washed away at the three older scenes, but the last child disappeared only three days ago, and they do find something interesting there. While Sam kneels down to inspect the footprints in the relatively soft and wet ground – as if that would tell him anything after the parents and the police have been running back and forth stomping all over the place searching for the kid and ruining any monster footprints, if there ever were any – Dean uses the opportunity to admire the dark-haired, slender woman who emerges from the lake after a swim, in a bikini that does not leave much to imagination. He flashes her his widest smile and she doesn't seem to mind being stared at. Instead, her own smile turns downright seductive, and damn, the way she _moves_ , all lithe and tantalising, and he swear she is probably way more flexible than –

Whoa, Dean thinks, and hastily pulls the emergency break of his train of thoughts.

"Hello." The woman has come near enough to address him now, and Dean can see the drops of water running down her skin. "Care to join me for a swim?"

Dean is tempted, he really, really is, but Sam is throwing him a glare like he wants to set him on fire if he makes a move on her, and it's actually way too cold to go swimming for his taste, so he smiles apologetically and winks at her. "I'd love to, but I'm on duty."

She pouts. "What a shame." For a moment she looks like she wants to come closer, but then she hesitates and sinks a little deeper into the water again, and Dean momentarily mourns the loss of the nice view. "Are you the police?"

"Federal Agents," Dean boasts, not feeling sorry for lying at all. He's never felt sorry for lying. "We're...ah...looking into the case of the missing kids."

The woman's face darkens. "Yes. I've read about it in the papers. Such a horrible thing," she says, sounding somewhat detached. "I do hope you find the guy soon."

"You think a man has kidnapped them?" Sam butts in, and the woman shrugs.

"What else could it be?" And then she winks at them, says, "I hope to see you again soon, agents," and swims out onto the lake again.

"You, too," Dean grins, and then scowls when Sam hits him on the back of his head. "Oi! What was that for?"

"You're an idiot, Dean."

Yeah, that explains everything. Dean scoffs. "So, Mister Tracker, any wiser?"

"No. Just a huge mess of footprints – and one set of hoof prints."

"Hoof prints?" Dean repeats. "So what, someone rode by, that's not exactly any sign of supernatural activity."

"I know." Sam sighs. "Let's go to the library and hit the books."

Dean takes one last look at the woman, but she's swimming too far away to make out any details. And that's when he sees something floating in the water where it laps on the shore, and his stomach turns a little bit. "Sam."

His brother stops in his tracks. "Dear God," he manages weakly when he recognises what it is that Dean is pointing at.

It's a heart, looking small and fragile and definitely too small to belong to a grown person.

And thus, the quality of their day spirals from "Bad, but tolerable" (which, in Winchester speak is actually a pretty good day) down to "Bloody fucking awful".

Figures.

 

* * *

 

After the hustle following their discovery is over, Sam and Dean return to the motel, tired and frustrated, because the finding leaves them with only little more information that they had before. So their monster likes to rip the kids' hearts out – that would have made a lot more sense if it was the _heart_ that was missing, not the body, and if the murders had happened at night. As it is, they can rule werewolves out (great, one down, approximately five hundred sixty eight monsters to go) and determine that they have never heard of anything like that happening before.

Dean refuses to do anything else but sleep, and Sam, in his usual manner, bitches about always being the one who has to do the research alone and grumbles under his breath while Dean gets comfortable under the covers. The next morning, Dean wakes up to find Sam sprawled out over his laptop, a nice set of keypad marks on his face where his temple was connected to the uneven surface for several hours, and a piece of paper sticking to the edge of his mouth, because Sam is secretly still five years old and drools in his sleep, and his confused look and the way he tries to pry the paper from his face when Dean wakes him up is the most hilarious thing he's seen in _years_.

It hadn't even been worth passing out on the table, Sam informs him grumpily. He still hasn't found out what they're dealing with.

They are just about to call Bobby for help – again – when half a dozen police cars rush by their window and decide that this conversation will have to wait. At the lakeside, they are faced with another hysterical mother – oh _joy_ – and a pale yet strangely calm kid with a shock blanket draped around his shoulders, just a few steps aside, being taken care of by some doctors, and Dean is so not ready for this without having had any breakfast, but Sam is already three steps ahead of him thanks to his freakishly long legs and all but waves his badge in front of the woman's eyes.

"Good morning, Ma'am. I'm agent Hammett, this is my partner agent Plant. Could you tell us what happened, please?"

"My...my boys were outside, playing," she says, her voice breaking, "I didn't know they were going to the lake. I wouldn't have let them if I'd known." She sobs again. "And now my little Andy is missing, and I don't know what happened, because I wasn't there and-"

She seems to be on the verge of gaining momentum and babbling incessantly for the next hours or so, so Dean cuts in smoothly. "But your...other son, he's alright, isn't he?"

The woman nods. "He's alive."

"Was he there, when his brother disappeared? Did he mention whether he saw someone? Or, anything at all?" Sam asks gently and another broken sound escapes the mother's throat.

"Toby was there but..but he's in shock, and he keeps saying things that don't make any sense."

Dean glances at Sam, because, hey, yeah, maybe the kid saw something supernatural, and clears his throat. "Would you mind if we talked to Toby for a moment?"

"He's in shock," she repeats, almost angrily. "I don't think he can give you any answers right now."

"Please," Sam says and uses his big puppy eyes that even work on Dean, Goddammit, so of course they also work on every member of the female species, "just five minutes. Even if he is in shock now, he might remember details that he will not be able to recollect later, details that could be vital if we want to find Andy."

"...Alright."

Sam stays to chat to one of the police officers and Dean walks towards the kid and sits down next to him, looking out over the lake. "Hi," he says, and tries to smile as genuinely as possible. "You're Toby, right?"

The kid nods. "Hi," he says quietly.

"I'm Dean. Me and my partner over there," he gestures towards Sam, "are trying to find your brother. But we need your help, you know, so...can you tell me what you saw?"

Toby frowns. "You won't believe me," he says disparagingly. "Mom didn't believe me. The other policemen didn't believe me."

Dean smirks. "Try me," he challenges. "What happened?"

The kid shrugs. "Andy and I were playing. We wanted to go swimming, too, but I'd forgotten my trunks, so I waited outside and watched him. And then there was this pony standing in the water..."

"A...pony," Dean repeats, slowly, and blinks. Hell, he'd been prepared for a lot of shit, but that doesn't sound exactly dangerous.

"Yes, a pony!" Toby snaps, louder now. "And I know you don't believe me, but it was there, in the water. _It came out of the water._ I told Andy to stay away, because I don't _like_ horses, but he just _had_ to touch it and climb on his back although I _told_ him not to, but he just wouldn't listen so I ran to find mum and tell her, and when I came back, Andy wasn't there anymore, and the pony was gone, too."

"So you think...the pony abducted your brother."

"I knew you wouldn't believe me! But it's true, it's all true, and the pony was going to where the water is deeper, and -"

"Whoa, whoa, it's okay, Toby, I believe you," Dean interrupts him hastily. Truth be told, he isn't sure if he does (a friggin' pony sounds even weird to him, and he's used to twenty different levels of weird and crazy stuff), but it's the best lead they have. "Can you describe what the pony looked like?"

"It was black," the boy murmurs, sinking deeper into his blanket. "And it was wet. Like, really, really wet. The mane was dripping with water."

"Okay." Dean gets up slowly. "Thank you, Toby. That was very helpful."

The boy looks very small when he looks up at him. "Can you find my brother?"

Dean hesitates. He used to make promises like that all the time, but lately he hasn't been all that successful in keeping his promises, so he goes with something that's vague enough that he can definitely fulfil it. "We'll do everything we can."

 

* * *

 

Sam is ridiculously excited to hear the news.

"It all fits together, Dean. Remember the hoof print we found yesterday? I think the kid's telling the truth."

Dean snorts and shoves another couple of fries into his mouth. "So what, the Loch Ness monster is a friggin Shetland Pony now and the legends just got it wrong?"

"No idea," Sam shrugs.

"We should call Bobby."

"Bobby's on a job," Sam informs him. "I already called him last night. He won't be able to tell us anything until he's back home." Then he gives Dean a _look_ , like he wants to tell him something that he's known always and that Dean has somehow still not figured out, regardless of how obvious it is, the look that Dean hates more than all of Sam's bitchfaces _combined,_ because it makes him feel stupid.

"What?"

"Dude," Sam says, "You should call Cas."

Dean blinks. "Cas?"

"Of course." Sam obviously thinks this is the most logical and natural thing to do. "If anyone knows, it's him."

Dean has to admit that he has a point. "But why me?"

Another pointed look, and God, Dean's sick of that. "He always comes when _you_ call," Sam notes, and oh no, this had better not be about that ridiculous notion of him and Cas having an epic interspecies gay crush on each other.

The worst thing is that there's some truth to Sam's statement. Cas does come when Dean calls, whereas he tends to pretty much ignore Sam, or at least keeps him waiting for a while before showing up., but Dean tries his best not to think about that implies. Especially not with Sam. His brother should know about his hate for chick-flick moments. And he is so not talking about anything that might compromise his reputation as a die-hard ladies' man. So he just frowns at Sam and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but the dude's busy, remember? He's trying to find a way to ice the devil, I can't just call him every time we have a tiny problem or you can't figure out why we have a fake unicorn gone rogue or whatever this is."

"It's a kelpie," a low, gravelly and way too familiar voice comments next to him, and Dean jumps.

"Holy shit, Cas!" he complains. "I told you not to do that."

Castiel, unfazed as always, slides into the seat next to him. "My apologies," he says, more out of habit than out of sincere regret.

"A kelpie?" Sam repeats. The little bitch has already grown used to Cas's sudden appearances, it seems and now his curiosity is taking over again.

"Yes," Cas affirms.

"You wanna elaborate?" Dean asks, slightly bugged and eats another fry. Greasy food is the only thing that keeps him sane, he thinks sometimes.

Well, maybe not so much, but it would be a good reason to make Sammy shut up about his fixation with rabbit feed.

"They are water spirits," the angels explains calmly and eyes Dean's fries with some interest when Dean makes a content noise of pleasure deep in his throat. Cas doesn't eat, Dean knows that as well as anyone, but hell, the angel is missing out on something – they're greasy and crispy and perfect – so he pushes his plate a little into his direction, a wordless offer. Cas looks confused for all of five seconds and then reaches out tentatively to pick up a single small fry.

Sam looks as if his eyes are about to fall out of his sockets. Dean ignores him.

"They usually appear in the form of small, black horses, trying to lure children into the water. They can also transform into young, beautiful women when they try to seduce men."

"And they rip their victims' hearts out?"

"Not exactly," Cas, finally, putting the fry in his mouth after studying it intently (although that is an adverb that shouldn't need adding, because Cas does everything very intently), and Dean takes immense pleasure in watching his face transform in pleasant surprise. "They eat them entirely, apart from the heart or liver."

"Great," Dean says. "That's yummy. Now I'm not hungry anymore."

Cas takes the opportunity to help himself to Dean's food, then, and Sam stares even more. Huh.

"So...there's no chance one of the kids is still alive?" Sam asks, once he gets a grip.

"I sincerely doubt it," Cas says gravely.

"Shit."

"But since when can you find kelpies on this side of the Great Pond anyway? I thought they only lived in Ireland and Scotland."

"This is somewhat unusual," Cas concedes.

Dean rubs a hand over his face and cuts in before Sam can have his personal geek out and feel the need to show off his knowledge. "So...how do we kill it? How do we even find out where it is, if it can shape-shift?"

"The power of their shape-shifting abilities lies in its bridle," Cas explains. "Once you find the bridle, you can tame it."

"Oh fuck that," Dean snorts. "I'm not going to participate in a spin-off of 'The Horse Whisperer'."

Sam, luckily, doesn't comment. "Taming it is not the same as killing it. And where are we going to find the bridle that belongs to this particular kelpie?"

The angel frowns. "Wait here," he says, and then he's gone. Dean blinks, and then he blinks again, and then he hears the familiar rustle of invisible feathers cutting through the air, and there he is again, a golden bridle in his hands.

"What the hell, Cas?"

"This is what you need," Cas says solemnly and gives the bridle to Dean, and great, now he just feels ridiculous. "Be careful not to touch its skin; it becomes adhesive, and then there's nothing you can do to overpower it." He stares at Dean, and it looks as if he silently wants to _force_ him to be careful.

And then he's gone again, the stupid son of a bitch.

Dean wishes he wasn't, and that's probably why he calls Cas a son of a bitch loudly and his gaze lingers on the chair where Cas was sitting just a moment ago. Sam stares some more. "Dude, what is going on between you guys?"

"What? Nothing. Why would anything be going on?"

"Dean, you let him eat you _food_ ," Sam emphasizes.

"So? I let a lot of people eat my food. I let _you_ eat my food."

"You hog food, Dean, and you complain like a bitch every time I so much as look at your plate."

Dean decides it's better not to say anything. "Let's go tame a pony," he says instead. "God, why is this my life?"

 

* * *

 

They return to the lakeside as soon the night has fallen because they don't want anyone to spy on them.

The water surface is calm, and there's nothing to be seen.

"Great," Dean sighs. "How are we going to lure that thing out?"

Sam shakes his head. "No idea."

"Oh. Hello." Dean turns around to find the woman from last morning standing behind him. It looks like she has been swimming again; her skin is still wet, and there's a bit of seaweed that's gotten caught in her hair.

Her eyes are very blue. He didn't notice that yesterday.

They're not as blue as Cas's, though.

And where did _that_ though come from all of a sudden? He shouldn't even have noticed the colour of Cas's eyes. He doesn't pay attention to things like that.

Um.

Anyway.

Woman. Breasts. Great breasts, just to mention it. He should focus on that.

"Hello." He grins. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Same here," the woman smiles.

"So you...went for a swim?"

"I like the water."

Wait.

Something is off here. He is sure of that.

"Are you sure you don't want to join me sometime?"

Sam clears his throat and huh, suddenly, something clicks inside his head. It's obvious, really, and he should have noticed it before. And it's not the sudden realisation that he is convinced that the woman's eyes weren't blue yesterday (because, if he's really honest with himself, he's taken to comparing everyone's eyes to Castiel's – and hey, don't judge him, it's hard not to think about the colour of his eyes when his stare is so omnipresent that it even haunts you in your dreams, and it's not like he asked for this or anything – and he would have noticed anything that reminded him of the angel), but yes, that's part of it. It all adds up now. She's trying to get him into the water. Her hair is black. She's always dripping wet. And she doesn't steer clear of the lake, like the other people in Ely do ever since the children started to disappear.

"Maybe some other time," Dean says, "but I doubt it. I don't plan to let you live past today, actually"

Her – its – smile falters. "Oh," she says simply. "You noticed."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, well, you are a little too good to be true."

She cocks her head. "Do you like the touch with the eyes? I made an extra effort."

"Yeah, I see that." He doesn't see why the damn water spirit thinks that this would please him, but he doesn't have the time to think about it at this moment either.

She smiles, and then plunges back into the water. "Son of a bitch!" Dean shouts, frustrated.

"How are we going to gank her now?" Sam whines.

"I don't know, why don't you make a Tom Booker impression and see how that works?" Dean quips, which earns him bitchface # 64, _Your pop culture references suck._

"Very funny, Dean."

"Well, I don't think it'll come out again," Dean grunts and shrugs off his jacket.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

"Going in."

"Are you insane?"

"You have a better idea? Then shoot, cause I don't plan to wait until that thing gets hold of another kid."

Sam sighs in defeat. "Great."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Dean might have complained some more, but before he can, there's a loud splash and then something grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him backwards. He hears Sam scream his name, and then he's suddenly underwater, and it's fucking cold, like little icicles stabbing him, and it's dark and _fuck_ , why does this always happen to him?

He struggles and fights and tries to free himself, but the creature is, as Sam has pointed out after doing some more research, approximately ten times stronger than a horse, so he has a snowball's chance at getting out of this, which is just peachy. He is going to get drowned and eaten by a kelpie, unless the angels decide to bring him back again, which would be even worse, probably, because then he'd have to be their bitch.

Just when he thinks he is going to pass out, he can suddenly breathe again, and he inhales with a loud gasp as quickly and deeply as he can. He's half lying on a hard surface, and it's completely dark, and Sam isn't there, which makes him fear someone is fucking with him again. Dean tries to calm his breathing and squints in the dark. Someone is here.

He sits up and feels around. "Hello?" he rasps, voice raw. He receives an answer in the form of a quiet squeak.

"Hello?" He wishes he had something to make some light. "Andy, is that you?"

"How do you know my name?" the boy asks.

"Yeah, well, we've been looking for you, kid."

It sounds as if he's crouching nearer. "Are you hear to save me?" Andy asks timidly.

Dean coughs. "Something like that."

Perfect. He can't see anything. They are obviously in some kind of cave, but he doesn't know how to get out. He doesn't know whether the kid can hold his breath long enough to make it to the surface. The kelpie isn't anywhere near him, probably trying to distract Sam.

To hell with all that.

"Are there any other kids around here?"

"No, I'm the only one."

Okay. Okay. So now he only has to figure out how to get them out of here. Should be a breeze.

Oh, who is he trying to kid here? Sam can't find him – he really, really hopes Sam doesn't show up, because that would probably mean that the kelpie got him too – and he is thoroughly screwed.

"How are we going to escape?" Andy pipes up, and Dean groans.

"I'm working on that," he lies.

The water laps against the stones more violently, and Dean _knows_ the creature is back. This time, it does look like a little pony, from the little he can make out in the darkness, and this is really just embarrassing. He is going to get worsted by this thing, and he doesn't have any weapons to defend himself or the boy. He backs off cautiously, his hand finding the boy and pushing him behind him, until the Andy's back hits solid rock, and there's no way out.

And then, all of a sudden, there's a bright, white light illuminating the cave, and Cas is coming out of the water, right behind the kelpie, completely soaked, his hair plastered to his face and his eyes shining way too bright to be human. Everything that follows happens too fast for him to process, especially since whatever Cas did to emit such a bright light leaves him blinded, but he does know the outcome: Cas smites the kelpie as if it were a fly, and then he gives Dean an exasperated look that just oozes _I_ _ **told**_ _you not to touch it, I told you to be careful_. A second later, Dean feels the cool touch of two fingers against his forehead, and when he opens his eyes again, he is standing next to a freaked out and drenched Sam, who looks like he wants to hug him.

For once, Dean is grateful that he doesn't. It would be too much of a chick-flick moment, and it's already bad enough that he had to be saved by Cas like a fucking damsel in distress. His ego was shattered enough for tonight.

Dean clears his throat. "Sam? You wanna...bring Andy to his mum?"

"Ah...yeah, I'll leave you two alone," he says with a grin that is _way_ too smug for Dean's taste.

That is not exactly what Dean had in mind, what with Cas glowering at him and all; he actually just wanted to go back and sleep, because he's always so tired lately. Now he has to deal with his tarnished pride _and_ an angel who is, for some unfathomable reason, pissed at him, and dear God, he knows not to get in the way of an infuriated nerd angel, and what has he done to deserve his wrath in the first place?

The anger emanating from Castiel makes him think of the way the angel glowered at him two days ago and how he thought it was hot, and Dean chokes on his saliva.

"What do you think you were doing? I am not here to perch on your shoulder, Dean," Cas growls, and fuck if that's not sending a shiver down Dean's spine.

But Dean is the master of poker face when he wants to be, so he just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I got that the first time you told me."

"Then," Cas hisses and steps right into Dean's personal space – not that that's new, but normally Cas isn't dripping wet and normally Dean doesn't harbour secret not so heterosexual feelings for him and fuck, Sam was right – "you should be more careful."

"How did you find me, anyway?"

"Sam called. He said the kelpie had called you under. So I dived."

It sounds so simple when he says it like that, and for him, it probably is. The most natural thing in the world is saving Dean Winchester.

This is kind of fucked up.

And Dean catches himself starting. Again. Huh. All the people who think Dean has a bad influence on Castiel have it wrong; it's the other way round. In certain aspects of life, that is.

"Wanna go grab a beer?" he suggests.

"I don't drink," Cas reminds him irritably.

Dean knows, of course, but he remembers the look on Cas's face when he ate for the first time, and he really wants to see that face again. "Hasn't stopped us before," he shrugs. "Come on, man. Just you and me. It'll be fun. And I need to thank you for saving my ass...again." Cas looks indecisive, so Dean goes for the punch line. "Come on, humour me."

The angel sighs. "Of course."

It shouldn't be so easy to manipulate him into doing exactly what Dean wants. It always is, though. Huh. Maybe Sam was right.

Not that he was going to admit it to his brother. He'd never live it down.

"Super," he says and pats Castiel on the back. "Dry us off, and then let's go have some fun."

And if he's going to spend the night staring at Castiel, Sam is never going to find out.


End file.
